Lucidity
by Jessica237
Summary: There were no drugs in her system upon which she could blame this almost desperate longing for him, something that, were Emily ever completely honest with herself, she had felt long before today. Missing scene fic for 5x01. H/P


**Title:** Lucidity  
**By:** Jessica**  
Pairing:** Hotch/Emily**  
Rating:** T **  
Timeline:** Missing scene for 5x01. Contains spoilers. **  
A/N:** Thanks so much for the warm welcome into the fandom with my first H/P fic. I truly appreciate it, especially since these two are so my new OTP. :)

**Summary:** There were no drugs in her system upon which she could blame this almost desperate longing for him, something that, were Emily ever completely honest with herself, she had felt long before today.

--

She'd always hated hospitals.

The blatant sterility of every pristine white surface did nothing to conceal the scent of death that seemed to linger down every hallway. Quiet whispers and small smiles of hope weren't entirely enough to chase away the despair lurking just within the shadows, ready to swoop in without a moment's warning. Life and death, healing and agony…hospitals were just one contradiction after another, like an unsub with an ever-changing profile – sometimes, there was just too much uncertainty to definitively nail down what was to happen next. Everything could change in the blink of an eye; that was just too much unpredictability for Emily Prentiss.

And, beyond the analytical reasoning her mind had crafted for her extreme dislike of hospitals, Emily couldn't deny that she found them just downright creepy. She'd _never_ spent more time inside one than was absolutely necessary. Hospitals unsettled her, and even on cases, she didn't like to be around them any longer than she had to be.

And yet, in the span of just a few hours' time, one of those unnerving, ominous hospital rooms had become the only place she wanted to be, at least, under the circumstances. Despite the hatred – and possible fear – that she held for hospitals, Emily was quite certain that there was no way it was going to make her leave _his _side.

Nearly two years before, after she'd resigned from the BAU, he'd coaxed her into returning, accompanying him to Milwaukee on a case – one that had quite literally left her with a splitting headache in the end. She'd basically resigned for him, she'd come back for him, and now she sat at his bedside at the hospital with no intention of leaving. It was amazing, the things that Aaron Hotchner could unwittingly have her doing for him, oftentimes without a second thought. There even existed a part of her, tiny though it was, that entertained the thought that she might even play the politics game for him were he to ask it of her…sure wouldn't play it _against_ him, though. That fact had been unquestionable two years ago, and unquestionable it would remain. It went deeper than loyalty; _much_ deeper, but to explore that avenue of thought would take Emily down a pathway she'd been avoiding for quite some time now.

She perched anxiously in the small chair at his bedside, ignoring the ache that was quickly setting up residence in her back. After the tossing and turning her body had fallen victim to during the short night before, her bones and muscles protested vehemently the forced stiffness of her posture, but the anxiety that coiled deep within her now prevented her from even just slightly relaxing. Normally, Emily was better than this, but today there was nothing about the stress and tension that agreed with her, not on as little sleep as she'd had.

What little sleep she _had_ been able to procure had been fitful, the few ventures into a deeper realm of sleep littered with visions and memories Emily wished she could just forget. But then again, nightmares were nothing new to her, not with what she saw case after case, day after day as a member of the BAU. As exceptional as Emily had become at compartmentalizing during the day, the effort that it took left her all but entirely unguarded at night.

But they were merely nightmares, and Emily had always been able to banish them away with the night. Banish the demons away, focus on the task at hand, the job. But this morning, something had been different – at first, she'd attributed it to the couple hours of entirely useless, restless sleep she'd gotten. The nightmares dissipated easily…but left behind was a sickening, twisting feeling deep in the pit of her stomach.

As the morning had drawn on, it only intensified, and it took Emily not long at all to discover the origin of that feeling. Of all the team she might've expected to miss a call-out, Hotch was the very last of the bunch. JJ had written it off fairly easily, but nothing about it had sat well with Emily. It made so little sense to her – how could the rest of the team be so calm? How could they concentrate on the job when the very heart of their team was missing? She couldn't detach herself; the rest of the team had done just that.

Emily had known something was wrong.

She hadn't exactly known, true, but she had _known._ Maybe she hadn't worked with Hotch for quite as long as the rest of the team, but she _knew_ him. Not showing up to the scene that morning hadn't simply been "not like him" – it was just _wrong._

After Haley had left, Emily had watched as Hotch's life had narrowed even further to two vastly separate points – the BAU, and Jack. If he wasn't in the office, it was because he had Jack. Otherwise, he was there, like clockwork. Her mind drifted briefly to a night she'd rather forget, though she only lingered there long enough to acknowledge that Garcia's answer to her question – _I'm pretty sure he lives here_ - that night had only half been in jest. Aside from the days with Jack, this job was all the man really had.

Hotch did _not_ ignore his phone. Hotch did _not _miss a call-out, no matter how little time to recover from the previous case he'd had. No matter how much she attempted to concentrate on sifting through Dr. Barton's patient files with Reid, there was very little Emily could do to quell the fear that settled in her stomach, in the back of her mind and slowly consuming the rest of her thoughts. Something had happened. Something was _wrong._

All wrong.

And the evidence was right in front of her – there could _never_ be anything remotely right about the sight of Aaron Hotchner, pale and all but immotile, hanging by a thread beneath the crisp sheets of the hospital bed. She'd never seen him quite so fragile before – in her mind, he'd always seemed so unbreakable. But Foyet…Emily didn't want to think about all that might've happened just mere hours before. What she _knew_ was bad enough.

Stabbed nine times, and yet he'd still found the strength somewhere to hold on.

Involuntarily, Emily shuddered.

Nine times…_He could have died._

The very thought had shaken the unflappable Emily Prentiss to the core. And that realization, in theory, should have unnerved her even further, but then again, Emily was finding it far too difficult to focus on anything but the man resting in the bed just mere inches away from her. Watching the steady rise and fall of his chest soothed her in ways she could never begin to fully understand; trying to understand would likely lead her into unfamiliar territory, and once she made that leap, there was no certainty that Emily would be able to come back from that.

Part of her, which she tried vehemently to ignore, wondered if maybe it wasn't already too late for that. Maybe she'd had no control over it at all. The thought of him in the hospital had weakened her; the doctor's assertions that he would be alright after all had brought her the greatest relief she'd felt since long before Canada. Thoughts of Foyet ambushing him, putting him through such agony meant to torture but not kill him left her with the fiercest bubbling of rage, but the fact that he _hadn't_ killed Hotch left her nearly on her knees, thanking the God she'd lost most of her faith in long ago. Her emotions were so muddled, so mixed within one another that she couldn't separate them, couldn't force them away, not when every time she lifted her eyes to the man in the bed before her brought each one back so much more deeply than before.

_He was alive._

_But he'd almost died._

_With time, he'll be physically fine._

_But what about emotionally?_

Again, Emily shuddered. She _knew_ Hotch; knew if he were struggling with memories and nightmares, he would handle it just the same as she did – shove the thoughts away, bury himself in his work in an effort to preoccupy his mind. And he would face it all alone, just as unwilling to place the burden on the shoulders of anyone else as he was unwilling to show that perceived weakness to his team, to anyone.

He would be alone with the reminders, alone with the scars…

The thought tugged at Emily's heart more than she was comfortable admitting, even silently. She couldn't help but shift uncomfortably in the chair she'd taken up temporary residence in, unwilling to leave his side for anything. She felt the distinct, inexplicable need to be there, just be there.

But whether for him or for herself, Emily didn't really know.

_That's a lie._

_He doesn't _need_ you here._

It surprised her, just how much such a simple fact could hurt. He _didn't_ need her to stay with him, likely had no idea she was even there. And if he did, he'd probably think that her time would better be utilized out in the field, rather than sitting idly by his bedside. But that was Hotch, Emily realized with the tiniest twitch of her lips. The job came first, long before concern for his own well-being. But one of these days, Emily feared, it was going to get him killed.

He'd come damn close to that end this time.

A sudden noise jarred her from her thoughts, jolting the beat of her heart into a quickened rhythm against her ribcage. She held her breath, waiting, flinching slightly at the low groan that escaped his lips. Immediately she was on her feet, the fingers of one hand gripping the headboard of the small hospital bed with an almost white-knuckled grasp. The doctor _had_ said that it would be about an hour before Hotch awoke, had she not?

His face twitched just slightly, and Emily swallowed hard, immediately worried that he was in pain, despite the anesthesia. Really, though, could any amount of medication take away the agony of nine stab wounds plus the necessary surgery? Emily wasn't sure it could, and it seemed horribly unfair that Hotch had to be the one to find that out. He gave another quiet groan, turning his head just slightly in Emily's direction. Her fingers twitched with the sudden urge to reach out to him, but for the moment she ignored it.

Slowly she leaned closer to him, flicking her tongue over her parched lips in an attempt to moisten them, though it did nothing for the way her voice scratched against the back of her throat, as though it hadn't been used in quite some time. "Hotch?" she breathed, experimentally testing his wakefulness.

She was mildly surprised when he responded with another groan, though different than the previous two. His eyelids fluttered, a sure sign of the struggle he was enduring – he was at the surface of consciousness, but couldn't seem to break fully through. The brief glimpse Emily did catch of his eyes was proof of that – they were clouded and distantly focused, something she could ascertain even during the half-second in which they'd been opened. His instincts were strong, but medication was stronger. The only thing Hotch would accomplish right now was tiring himself out.

Still, Emily could not fully convince herself that he _wasn't_ currently in pain. Something had his brow furrowing – something was unsettling him, had drawn him early from his anesthetic slumber, and Emily was surprised at how strong the desire to reach out to him had become. She couldn't help but want to offer him some sort of comfort, even though all that came to her mind was a gentle squeeze to his shoulder, perhaps a caress of her fingers against his cheek. There had to be something she could do for him – it was killing her to see him lying there helplessly.

And then, all thought was abruptly halted as his lips parted, a gruff, tired whisper slipping from between them.

"Emily…"

Her first name from his lips was all that was needed to shatter her resolve. Suddenly her fingers, so unsteady, so fidgety for the greater part of the past hour, wrapped themselves slowly around Hotch's hand, not a single tremble coloring the motion. Her heart was pounding so wildly; it echoed so loudly in her ears that she was sure that Hotch could hear it too – it certainly seemed much louder than the quiet whisper of her voice in the small room. "I'm here, Hotch. I'm here…"

He swallowed roughly, and Emily couldn't help but feel her heart clench for him. The action clearly took more effort than it should've; quickly she glanced to the hallway, her eyes searching for a doctor, a nurse, anybody. Water, ice chips, there had to be something she could get for him, anything to make him feel better, anything to ease the discomfort she was certain he _had_ to be enduring.

But then she heard again the simple utterance that left butterflies fluttering almost violently in her stomach; she wasn't sure why, but there was just something about hearing that fall from his lips, not Prentiss, but, "_Emily_." She could count on one hand the number of times he'd used her first name, but if her reaction to it every single time was any indication, there was no way Emily would be able to function if he used it more frequently, not with the way it _always_ drew a shiver along the length of her spine.

She forced herself from her reverie, and without even processing the action in her mind – that part of her brain had shut down long ago anyway, she thought – she lifted her free hand to his head, lighting stroking her fingers through his dark hair. It felt so easy, almost instinctive; the sheer intimacy of the motion never even crossed her mind. Neither, though, did the slip of her tongue which followed. "Stop fighting, Aaron," she breathed, again squeezing his hand. "Go back to sleep; wait for the meds wear off completely, okay?"

She would swear that the lines upon his face had eased at her touch, even if just a bit. Or perhaps it was the sound of her voice? Emily couldn't be sure, but something was soothing him, and the idea that he might be finding that comfort in her left a small smile at her lips. "You'll be okay," she continued, maintaining the hypnotic stroke of her fingers through his hair.

Hotch sighed softly, fading quickly, though it became apparent that he wasn't quite ready to rest again just yet. Slowly he licked at his lips, parting them just enough to murmur half of a quiet request. "Could you…"

He paused there, drawing for strength along with his breath, and Emily couldn't help but let her mind run quickly through the list of possibilities. Ice chips and water again crossed her mind, despite knowing that by the time she procured it for him, he'd probably be out like a light again. Maybe he wanted her to find a doctor, a nurse; maybe he really _was_ drowning in agony – maybe the anesthesia was doing nothing beyond leaving him tired and groggy, and he'd much rather admit it to someone in the medical profession that to his own subordinate. Jack, maybe even Haley were both understandable requests. And despite being all but completely out of it, it was still Hotch who lay in the hospital bed – Emily wouldn't put it past him to ask about work, maybe even request a file or two for him to study when he awoke fully. That thought had her lips twitching lightly.

But she hadn't in her wildest dreams expected to hear him request something so different, so unexpected. His voice was heavier as he continued, so tired yet so determined to hold on, just long enough for this. "Would you stay?"

She wasn't sure what affected her more – hearing her name, or that request. Emily knew he wouldn't see it, but still she smiled at him, unsure whether or not she would've been able to suppress it at all. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, feeling her heart leap as he squeezed her hand just lightly in response – it was weak, but it was there, undeniably so. "You should rest," she advised again. "I'll be here when the drugs wear off."

She waited a moment, smiling again when she knew he'd once more drifted away. Only then did she allow her own eyelids to drop closed, though only momentarily. Her heart still pounded, though it was eclipsed by the feeling of relief that flooded through her. Hotch was going to be okay; he'd need some time to recuperate, but he'd likely be back by her side at the BAU in no time, knowing him. Selfishly, though, she hoped it was sooner rather than later – it wasn't something she had felt very often, but there was just something about working without him that just felt…wrong.

His words echoed in her ears, the quiet request still sending her heart into an inexplicable flutter. No, inexplicable was not the right word at all, and try as she might, Emily couldn't deny that. She couldn't force it away, couldn't force herself to leave it alone in the wake of what had just happened. She knew _exactly_ why she couldn't leave him; knew _exactly _why his request had left her feeling nearly giddy inside…she just didn't want to acknowledge the truth.

Her eyes drifted back to his face, the serenity in his expression all the indication that Emily needed to know that he had once more surrendered fully to the grips of the sedative. That would be the only thing that could bring him peace after being stabbed nine times, even though she couldn't quite deny that part of her, so deeply hidden away, wished that _she_ could be what brought him that calm.

It was that desire that kept his hand in hers as she slowly reclaimed her seat by his bed, secretly almost fearful of diverting her eyes from his face – almost as though he might disappear, might slip quietly away. Unconsciously she tightened her grasp upon his hand, drawing comfort from the warmth that radiated from his skin.

Once the anesthesia fully wore off, she knew he likely would never remember the short burst of consciousness; would likely not remember asking her to stay. Even if only for a second, Emily had witnessed the hazy glaze in his dark eyes, and even though he had murmured her name – not once, but _twice_ – she knew that his clouded, exhausted mind had likely not processed very much beyond that bit of information. If even that - in his current state of rare weakness, there was only really one truth that Hotch needed to know, and that was that Foyet was not there. Beyond that, very little was of much importance.

For all she knew, his request might've been for her just as much as it might've been for Haley, for anyone else. Emily's heart clenched at the thought, but there was no denying that he wouldn't have asked at all, had his mind just a little more clarity in that moment.

Her own lucidity, however, was unquestionable.

There were no drugs in her system upon which she could blame this almost desperate longing for him, something that, were Emily ever completely honest with herself, she had felt long before today.

She wanted him. Maybe she even _needed_ him, if the pounding of her heart and the fear of losing him were any indication. Emily couldn't be entirely sure which it was, wasn't entirely sure she wanted to differentiate between the two just yet, but there was one small fact that outshone the rest, one that she couldn't ignore.

If this was how it felt to see him in pain, to know he'd been so tortured both physically and mentally, then Emily was certain that the agony of losing him would tear her completely apart.


End file.
